


Raphael Santiago/Isabelle Lightwood/Simon Lewis Stories

by StealthLiberal



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthLiberal/pseuds/StealthLiberal
Summary: A collection of stories about my latest OT3, this one from the Shadowhunters tv show. Let's see what happens when two vampires and a nephalim get together.





	1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any character nor plot line from the Mortal Instruments, Infernal Devices or any material in the Shadowhunter fictional universe. All intellectual property for these belong to, respectively, Cassandra Clare, Constantin Productions and the Free Form TV network, formally known as ABC Family. No profit from this work of speculative fanfiction was made nor ever intended to be made. Nor is this an attempt to infringe upon the rights/intellectual ownership of any of the aforementioned parties.

 

 

Raphael Santiago/Isabelle Lightwood/Simon Lewis Stories

 

Author's Notes: This is my particular fave OT3 from the Shadowhunters/Mortal Instruments universe. I'm a fan of Simon/Izzy, Simon/Raphael and Raphael/Izzy, then realized that an OT3 solved all my wondering about which of those pairings I liked that best. Now, it's easy to find fic for Simon/Izzy and Simon/Raphael, but difficult to find fic for Raph/Izzy/Simon and utterly impossible to find it for Raph/Izzy. Instead of waiting for others to write what I wanted to read, I decided, what the hell, I should write it myself. Some of these will be connected, most will be oneshots. I have no idea how much nor how often I'll write or update. Being a busy mother of 2 young children, I've realized that making such promises only leads to let down. So, hopefully, you will enjoy what I write for as long as I write it.

 

One: A Microscope in Her Hand

 

Izzy hunched over the microscope, yet another slide to look at, yet another dead end. She had been in the Institute's laboratory for days and was no closer. In fact she had been here for three days, barely sleeping and just wearily grazing at food. Something was making the werewolves sick, very sick. Some sort of designer disease was killing them. Every supernatural species had it's advantages and two of the werewolves' were healing and endurance. They could heal just about anything, given a good night's sleep. They could take an ungodly amount of physical punishment and keep going. Everyone else could hate it all they wanted to, and they did, but werewolves could take a beating that would kill the rest of them. Werewolves did not get sick. No other living being could say that with a straight face, even the fey got the sniffles.

So here she sat, no closer to an answer than when she was called in from a sound sleep three days ago. No hunch panned out, every lead a dead end. For her, this was personal, this could effect Luke Garroway. Luke was like the adoptive father they never knew they needed, but got regardless. He had helped Simon through his transition from mundane human to fledgling vampire, he had allied with the vampire clan chief Raphael for Simon, he had counseled Alec after he came out, having had his own personal dealings with the Clave's bigotry. He was the only father Clary had ever known and had had a hand in raising Simon as well, he had kept her foster brother Jace from suicidal actions more times than she could count and she knew that if she ever needed him, Luke would be there for her. The thought that he could get sick and die was not a reality she wished to be a part of. So she stayed and worked her eyes to their breaking point.

The slides had started to blur again, her eyes were so tired they were almost uncontrollably watering. Isabelle knew she wasn't helping, working in this condition, but she couldn't stop, so many people were depending on her to find the answer, hell at this point, any answer. But none was forthcoming.

“For tonight, you need to admit defeat.” Lydia Branwell leaned against the door to the lab with a determined look on her face.

“Go home, get some sleep, come back at this tomorrow afternoon with fresh eyes and a rested mind. At this point the answer could be staring you in the face and you wouldn't see it.” she continued.

Isabelle shook her head. “No, what if... Luke....” Her voice trailed off.

“Luke isn't sick, he's an alpha, he's stronger than the other wolves. His pack is the largest on the eastern seaboard, they, and he, will survive. But only if you rest. You are the best pathologist in the city, right now we need your mind more than we need your stubborn brawn to stay awake any longer.”

Isabelle made a few more protesting sounds and gripped her microscope in her hand.

Lydia smiled. “I should also mention that I am tired of fielding calls from Raphael and Simon. I told them to expect you, so go. It wouldn't do to see Simon fretting himself into the grave, again. Nor having Raphael look at me in that tone of voice his face has.”

Isabelle nodded and wearily put her experiments to bed as it were and staggered out of the lab. Lydia allowed her to portal to the Hotel Du Mort and once she stumbled to the stairs she sighed. They looked as step as a Mexican pyramid, but one by one she climbed them and shuffled through the halls till she got to the rooms she shared with Raphael and Simon.

“I'm home.” Her voice held no enthusiasm, it sounded dull. Dull was not a word anyone ever associated with Isabelle Lightwood.

Simon had been pacing and as soon as she opened the door, he blurred over to her. “Are you alright, you never came home. Have you even slept? You look awful. Not that you aren't pretty, but you look like you could keel over at any minute.” His nervous chatter was always his defense mechanism when he was worried out of his mind.

Isabelle waved his questions away and practically collapsed into him for a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I can't find the answer, I don't know what's making them sick.” Her voice wavered for a moment, almost as though she might cry.

Simon held onto her and ran the fingers of his left hand through her hair. “You'll find the answer, you're the smartest woman I've ever known. I know you'd have stayed there if you were capable of doing anything more right now. Luke and the pack have confidence in you, we all do. But you're mortal and even Shadowhunters need to rest.”

For all his nervous chatter, once someone truly needed Simon, he was rock solid, he was there. But he was still a mother hen, because as soon as Izzy's stomach let out a monstrous growl, he held her away from him at arms length. “Have you even eaten anything besides potato chips and coffee for the past three days?”

“Of course she hasn't, why do you think I've been in the kitchen? It certainly wasn't for either of us.” Raphael made his appearance, wiping his hands off on a dish towel. “I've made you some supper, nothing fancy, come.”

He took her hand and walked her to the kitchen, just as he was about to guide her to the table, he frowned. “Mi amor, you left your lab coat on. Let's take that off.” He slid it off her shoulders and handed it to Simon who hung it up. “Please tell me you portaled here, because it's 3am in New York, in January.”

“I did, though if Lydia hadn't made me, I probably would have wandered here on foot.” She looked at her plate, Raphael had made her huevos rancheros, her favorite. “Thank you, I wouldn't have thought to eat.” 

Her stomach growled loudly again and both Raphael and Simon winced. As vampires there was always an edge of hunger to them, it was the defining aspect to their vampirism. A vampire was always hungry, but in time they learned to manage it, ignore it. In time they weren't always desperate for blood the way a fledgling was. But that hunger was still always there, on the back burner of their minds. It made them sympathetic to hunger in others, Izzy being hungry was something that made them deeply uncomfortable. When she asked about it, Raphael had told her that it was instinct with the added edge of all the training he got growing up in a Latino household that told him no man ever let his woman go hungry. Simon was far less eloquent about it, he just said that food was love when you were Jewish and left it at that.

The care they took with her hunger was the same care they took with each others. Raphael, honestly, didn't need that care. By now he was a master at controlling his impulses, he would have to be at the point of desiccation before he'd ravenously and indiscriminately feed. But Simon wasn't at that place yet so Raphael was always looking for the signs, the tightness of the eyes, the predatory stance for no reason. At his heart, Raphael was a provider and growing up poor meant that to him, providing meant food on the table for his family, no matter the form that food took or the method of consumption.

Once she started eating, Izzy finally realized how hungry she actually was and began inhaling the food. She didn't talk, she just ate. Raphael and Simon watched her with satisfaction while they drank some blood out of glasses; their version of a family supper. When she was done, she carefully put the plate in the dishwasher and sat back down.

“Thank you, it was delicious.”

“Do you want to talk now about what's eating you up inside?” Simon asked.

Isabelle put her head in her hands and once again, all her fears came out, as though a valve had been released. “What do we do if I can't fix this? The Clave is bringing in anyone who can help. Magnus is helping, we have the best vampire doctors in the city helping, even the fey are helping... they said it had something to do with how they both have the wild in them... whatever that means. But nothing has worked. What if nothing ever does... what if Luke...?”

Simon took Izzy's hands in his. “I've known Luke for a lot longer than you have, he helped raise me after my father took off, so the thought of him dying doesn't exactly do me any favors. He was the first one who helped me after I turned, I want him to live a long and healthy life. But I also know that someday I'm going to lose him, someday if he doesn't die in the line of duty or in battle, he will die of old age. I won't be happy, it will take me long years before I'm fully OK, but I will be. Now, I don't want to lose him today, tomorrow or anytime soon, but I do know if this disease gets him, he will fight it tooth and claw right to the grave... and so will you. If he dies, it will be because you did everything on earth and in heaven to save him. It won't be your fault, it will be the fault of whoever designed this disease. Not. You.”

Raphael leaned back in his chair and looked into his glass of wine before he spoke, and the tone was a bit begrudging. “I've known a lot of alphas in my time. I got to know more about the previous alpha of Luke's pack than I really wanted to. The old alpha was a hothead who never seemed to make the right decision when two choices were presented to him, it's like he couldn't help himself.”

Here Raphael grimaced like what he was about to say was physically painful. “I know both of you think that I'm polite to him these days because of what he means to everyone else in this bizarre extended family we have going on here, and that is part of it. But the other part is that I respect him, he's a good alpha, a good leader. He keeps his wolves in line better than the past five alphas of that pack and he cares for them at the same time. Trust me, those wolves haven't had it so good for a while. When you can take as much damage as werewolves can, people can get dependant on it, use them for cannon fodder. Luke never does. Plus he's smart and that makes negotiating with him easier than with any other wolf. I don't want him dead either, New York will be worse off for it. Don't either of you dare tell him I said any of that.”

Simon and Isabelle smiled fondly at Raphael, bemused at how hard he tried to maintain certain airs around them. The three of them talked for a little while longer, catching up with each other. Eventually though Izzy began to yawn so hard it looked like her face might split in two.

Simon pulled her up from her chair. “Alright you, time for bed. Lydia doesn't want to see you back at the Institute till you've eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” 

He gently led her to their bedroom and took her shoes off while Raphael turned down the bed. She collapsed into the down comforters with a sigh and before they could even ask her if she was comfortable, she was asleep.

When the morning dawned, Raphael and Simon joined her, this time placing her in the middle, a slot which rotated often with the three. Soon they too were asleep.

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX 

 

At noon Izzy rocketed awake and sprang from the bed putting clothes on in a flurry. Simon and Raph woke up blearily and asked her what was going on. Izzy excitedly babbled extremely complicated science stuff at them that neither understood.

“This means I know what it is, I know how the disease was made and if I know how it was made, reverse engineering a cure is possible now!”

And with that she darted out off their rooms and they heard the door slam open and the sound of a portal whisking their girlfriend back to the Institute.

Simon looked at the floor. “Should we tell her that she's barefoot?”

“Nope.” Raphael replied. “She's portaling, Clary will give her some shoes there.”

“There she goes, marching off to battle... barefoot and with a microscope in her hands.” Simon said.

Raphael's reply was a bit muffled from the depths of his pillow. “It's not like her whip would have really done her any good... this time.”

 

 

Author's Note: Well, there you go. My first time writing this OT3, please leave a comment, I love hearing what people think. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

The Legal Disclaimer can be found on the first page of this fic. I will not be repeating it on every chapter.

 

Two: Faith and Lack Thereof

 

Raphael Santiago was Catholic, he had been an alter boy, he had said his novenas and gone to confession twice a month. He had been baptized, made his first penance, made his first communion and had been confirmed. He had done his Stations of the Cross every Friday during Easter season, had given up something that was actually meaningful every Lent and paid his due to the Advent rituals every year when Christmas neared. Now, to be sure, a certain portion of his devotion was due to his mother, Guadalupe, who had thought G-d was listening at every moment and would protect them at every opportunity, as long as they never strayed from the path. He hadn't believed in all of it then, he didn't believe in all of it now. However now, like then, he believed in enough to keep trying. Staying a Catholic kept him closer to the person he had been, kept the image of the man he might have become nearer to him. Saying a rosary a few times a month kept his mother in his heart.

Simon Lewis was Jewish, his mother had lit the Shabbat candles every Friday night and he and Rebecca had always known that Shabbat dinner was sacred. Their table had grown to include Jocelyn, Luke and Clary, but that was all part of the mitzvah of kindling light. He had eaten apples dipped in honey every Rosh Hashannah, had fasted once he was old enough every Yom Kippur. He had delighted as a child in trying to find the afikomen on Passover and when he made his bar mitzvah he truly felt like he had become closer to being a man. When he came out of that grave, with the dirt in his mouth and the need for blood screaming in his bones, he couldn't even say G-d, being on holy ground felt so wrong. Simon had never felt that he was deeply religious or that it mattered beyond identity... till he came out of that ground, because in that moment he realized how much it had meant all along. What's the saying? You never really know what you have till it's gone.

Isabelle Lightwood couldn't have cared less, she had never really been spiritual as a child and that followed her through adolescence and right on into adulthood. Sometimes, when asked why, she would say that she thought it was because when you're a nephalim it takes all the mystery out of it. There are angels, they gave you a job killing demons and faith never really enters into it. No one wonders about G-d, heaven, resurrection, reincarnation or whether there's a hell like the Catholics say, or most likely not as most of the Jews say. There's just angels and demons and doing their jobs. Whether or not her society is poorer for that isn't something Isabelle ever thought about. What is... is... and that's that.

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX 

 

When the first vampire that Camille ever made took Raphael in revenge for his part in her imprisonment by the Clave, Simon's first reaction was to grab his prayer book. The thought of Raphael taken shook him to his core and he sought a familiar comfort and opening the book up and saying a t'filah in Hebrew was the very first thing that occurred to him. Once that was done, he felt centered, ready to react, to move forward. He never realized that the entire time that Raphael was gone, till the moment Simon, Izzy and their friends and family rescued him, he was repeating the words in the back of his head. 

When Raphael was taken all Izzy could do was look for him, was arm herself to the teeth and swear to the angel that someone was going to die for this. She prayed to no one and sought no divine deliverance... and that was OK. All that mattered were results, she felt a nebulous sense of gratitude, but beyond that was a place she never cared to go and that no one cared to force her to visit.

When he was taken, when he was tortured, Raphael prayed, hell he prayed in the original Latin. First he prayed that someone would find him, that Simon and Izzy would notice he was missing sooner rather than later. He was no match for the vampire who had taken him, a blow to his pride to be sure. Eventually the tone of his prayers changed, he began to pray that someone else found him, he was certain that he would die a final time here and he didn't want his Izzy and Simon to see him like that.

Once Raphael was returned to them, Simon said a Mi Shebeirach for him, his body was flayed and Simon just wanted him to heal faster. Once Raphael was returned to them Izzy just held his hand, her mind nearly blank, but her constant presence was her version of a prayer. When he woke and saw the two of them there with him, Raphael sent up a quick prayer, he was still here, they were still here, no one had to say goodbye yet.

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

 

No one had truly understood the meaning of the curse, it had been placed by the Unseelie and since no one ever talked to them, very few people had any idea how their magic worked. All anyone knew was that Simon had gone feral and couldn't control his hunger, needed to feed, needed blood. No one could really feel his terror as the slice of him that remained realized he was trapped in a magically sealed room with the loves of his life and all he wanted was blood. That slice of him screamed for help, begged G-d to make him stop, to kill him if need be, but please, just make him stop. Raphael's blood couldn't truly feed him, it might be enjoyable in bed to take from him, to be fed on by him, but Raphael's blood was as dead as his was. Izzy though, Izzy was alive and her blood flowed rich and red under her skin and, G-d help him please, he wanted it. He knew he'd kill Raphael to get to her, drain her dry... and then go take a nice look at the sunlight when someone got him out of this fucking room. So he prayed with a desperation he never had before in his life.

No one but Magnus had ever seen Raphael look this scared, no one had ever heard him beg before. First he begged Simon to snap out of it, then he pleaded with G-d in Spanish to intercede. His Simon wasn't in there, only a creature of hunger and rage was left. No one had ever figured out how to bring a vampire back from this sort of edge before other than throw them a mortal and hope for the best. His blood was useless, his blood couldn't being Simon back from this... and he could stand to lose more of it than Isabelle could. His Isabelle was behind him, and Raphael was in the unenviable position of having to possibly kill one of his mates to save the other one. If he killed Simon, he knew he would never recover. If he let Simon kill Isabelle, he knew he would never recover. So he prayed with a fervor he never had before in his life.

No one other than Jace had ever grasped the lengths Isabelle Lightwood was capable of going to to save the people she loved. Everyone looked at her flippant smile and her 5 inch heels and assumed sacrifice wasn't something that was on her itinerary. But Isabelle looked at the hunger in Simon's eyes and heard the fear in Raphael's voice and knew the only way out of this nightmare was giving Simon some blood and her's was the only available source, some decisions are made quicker than anyone really thinks, sometimes prayer isn't needed. No one, least of all Raphael and what was left of Simon, was prepared when she walked around Santiago and offered up her wrist to Simon.

“It's okay, go ahead.” 

When his fangs punched through her skin, Izzy thought they'd gone through her bones, the impact rattled her teeth. She could hear Raphael yell no and she thought she had seen a sliver of horror slide though Simon's eyes for a split second before she closed hers and let him feed. Eventually she murmured for him to stop, that she didn't feel so good, but he didn't stop. She thought she could feel someone pulling on him, hear someone yelling. But then she got so tired she just... fell asleep.

No one was there besides the three of them when Izzy woke up in an infirmary bed in the Institute, Her arm was bandaged up and Raphael was sitting in the chair next to her bed, Simon was hovering by the door, looking like he wanted to run. It took days for Raphael to forgive himself for letting Simon feed from her like that, it took over a month for Simon to forgive himself for nearly killing her. 

Everyone knew Isabelle didn't regret one damn thing... well except for letting Simon read the curse in the first place.

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

 

Isabelle was 92 years old and her life was coming to an end. She had served the Clave, the Accords and the angels faithfully and truth be told she was ready to go. Her life had had purpose, she had laid waste to her enemies and helped rebuild a new world. She had spent nearly her entire adult life with Simon and Raphael and regretted not one single minute of it... well... except for that Unseelie curse bullshit from back when she was 20. Life had been hard, it had been eventful, it had been interesting, it had been fantastic and it was just about over. The men she had loved had deep wellsprings of faith in them and while she had loved and respected that about them, it wasn't something she had ever shared with them. She had tried, she had tried to be Jewish, she had tried to be Catholic, she had tried to be both... but it had never worked. She supposed it was because she hadn't really tried for herself, it had always been for them, something she had always thought would make them happy. Her lack of spiritual faith had never left her feeling empty, and once she realized she wasn't trying for herself, she had stopped. Neither Raphael nor Simon had said anything, but she had a feeling that they had realized it too.

She was dying and she was content, the only thing was... she was going to miss them.

Isabelle was 92 years old and she was dying and Raphael had no idea what to do. Yes, he had been here before, after a certain amount of time every vampire came to this moment. At some point every vampire realized they were a fixed point in time and everyone was going to run past them to the grave. His mother had, his siblings had, hell, even his old neighborhood had. Intellectually, he had known that while he would have Simon possibly forever, he would only have Isabelle for a human lifetime. Emotionally though, his mind had always held onto the image of the three of them. Part of him hoped she'd become a ghost and float through the rest of their long lives with them. He wasn't ready. He held his mother's rosary in his hand, the beads slipping one at a time in an endless loop though his fingers, prayer after prayer slipping through his lips. Raphael knew it was selfish to pray for her to keep living, arthritis had stolen most of her mobility from her and a stroke had taken the rest. It was cruel to want her to live in chronic pain and helplessness when once she had shown like the glint from a seraph blade. He brushed the white hair back from her forehead and kissed her.

“Don't go.”

She was dying and he wasn't ready yet... he never would be.

Isabelle had been 92 when she died and Simon thought he would never move beyond that second in time when she rattled out her last breath. He thought he'd be trapped there, listening to that horrible sound, listening to Raphael cry holding onto her hand. When she was dead it was like he was on autopilot, he made the funeral arrangements, helped prepare her, said all the right prayers when they were supposed to be said and gave her a proper Shadowhunter burial while keeping Raphael putting one foot in front of the other. He made sure she was in the ground before three days were up and then he went home, took black cloth and covered every reflective surface, made a cut through ten days worth of shirts, took off his shoes and socks and sat down and stared at his grief. He sat shiva and then after the ten days of shiva were over, every morning for a year he said the mourner's kaddish in her name.

“Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba. B'alama di v'ra chirutei....”

She was dead and Simon thought he'd never get past it, but on the third yarhzeit of her death he realized that he was smiling because of the good memories instead of crying with the bad ones.

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

 

On a shelf in their bedroom Raphael and Simon kept three things in a row. On one side sat Guadelupe's rosary, on the other Simon's mother's Shabbat candlesticks and in between them was Isabelle's stele.

 

Author's Note: So there's my meditation on the place I think faith would or wouldn't have in each character's life. Interfaith relationships/marriages are hard work, I ought to know, I'm Jewish and my spouse is Buddhist, we were raised differently and look at things very differently and I wanted to put the OT3 under that same microscope. While I am religious and take great pride in my Jewish faith, I have never thought that everyone needs to be Jewish or even that they need to have any faith at all. Just a good heart and a willingness to act on it's impulses.

Once again, leave a comment, it'll make my day.


	3. At Night all Cats are Grey

The legal disclaimer is located at the first page of the fic and will not repeated on every chapter.

 

Author's Note: So, this is sort of inspired by the events in the last section of the 2nd chapter, the part where Izzy dies of old age. Like I said in a review reply from that chapter, I have always been fascinated by the idea of the male immortal/female mortal romantic pairing. I like the idea of reading about a man who will always look young and vital being in love with a woman who will age, who someday will look older than him, who will look like his mother, his grandmother eventually. I know it has a lot to do with the societal pressure women are under to always look young and perfect and I know this is why it is almost always glossed over both in regular pop culture and in fanfic. 

After the last chapter, I wanted to write a Simon focused comedy section, but this kept popping up in my mind and refused to not be written. This is an Izzy focused chapter and I had planned to move beyond her point of view as her's is the the POV I'm most comfortable writing in (I have issues writing in the male voice, I need practice.). However, here we are, I hope you like what are, ultimately, my thoughts, clothed in fiction, about the female aging process.

 

At Night All Cats are Grey

 

Isabelle pulled a brush though her hair slowly as she stared in the mirror, not liking what she saw. The grey streak in the front was wider, there were some crows feet at the outside of her eyes now... she was getting older. To be sure, she was still strong, still an able warrior who had not left the field, but someday, sooner than she wanted to admit, she was going to have to take a desk job. Cede the tasks of tracking, hunting and killing demons to the new and upper comers in ranks of the nephalim. 

She dropped the brush down on the vanity and with a scowl she held her chin in her hands and stared at her reflection with distaste. It wasn't hard for Izzy to hate what she saw there, she lived in a society where one's worth was judged by one's prowess in the never ending demon war, where even a single misstep was one you would never be allowed to forget. Age was the ultimate downfall of every Shadowhunter, the one weakness they couldn't overcome. Warlocks, vampires and the fae all got to live forever in perpetual youth that only stopped if someone managed to kill them. Nephalim, werewolves and mundanes of all stripes got to get old, to get weak and ultimately die. Where in all the possible hells was the justice in THAT? 

Izzy looked at a picture tucked into the frame of her mirror and traced her finger over it, it was a picture from ten years ago, she and her husbands were sitting at a table at a cocktail party, Raphael and Simon looked dapper in their suits and she had looked gorgeous in her dress. They still looked the same, they always looked the same. They were vampires and she was not. They would always look twenty years old, in the first blush of their prime, of their manhood. It didn't matter that they were no more twenty than she had blue hair, that's what it looked like to anyone who laid eyes on them.

Anyone who laid eyes on them also noticed that she most definitely did not look 20. That picture had marked the last time she had been fully comfortable going out in a public, non Shadow World setting, while being an obvious triad. The disbelieving looks had become unbearable, whether or not Izzy was paranoid about the subject was immaterial, she felt judged, and judged harshly. 

There was no getting around it, she felt ugly, invisible, cast aside and no longer worth making note of. When she was busy, she didn't feel this way, on the hunt she didn't feel this way, these thoughts were not a constant in her life... but they were always lingering on the back of her brain. 

It wasn't fair.

She was convinced that someday Raphael and Simon were were going to look at her, see something old and ugly and leave her. 

It wasn't fair.

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

 

Raphael walked into their bedroom, took one look at the way Isabelle was looking at herself in the mirror and knew something was wrong. He knew that something had been wrong for about a decade now, some part of herself that Izzy was holding back from him and Simon. He had a damn good idea what it was about too, he wasn't a fool.

Whenever they were out with Isabelle in the mundane world, both he and Simon had noticed she would pull back, pretend like she wasn't with them, she would act like she was their good friend and not their wife. At first they both thought they were imagining it, after all, their Izzy was fearless, why would she pull away? As time moved on, it was harder to ignore how she got when she went ANYWHERE in public with them. The hour or more spent on her face, her outfit. When it was just them, she wasn't like this, when it was a mission, this behavior vanished, but if they had to go to any sort of social event, it was as though every insecurity she ever had would fall into her lap, leaving her paralyzed.

It had to stop.

He walked over to her and and ran his fingers through her hair, sweeping it back from her face, looking at her in the mirror he finally spoke. “Talk to me Isabelle, whatever it is that's eating you up inside, you need to talk to me, to us. Please.”

Isabelle gave him a fake smile that made it nowhere near her eyes. “Nothing's wrong with me Raphael, I'm just tired.”

He sighed and closed his eyes for a brief second. “You and I both know that's not true. Don't lie to me, tell me you don't want to talk about it, I'll respect that... for now... but don't lie to me.”

“I... I'm not....” Isabelle almost lied to him again, if only to save herself from this humiliating conversation, but looking at Raphael's concerned eyes in the mirror stopped her. He was her husband and she owed him more than another cowardly lie. It was just... how did she talk about this? How did she open up about the biggest, most deeply felt insecurity in her life?

Eventually, like a dam breaking, she told the truth.

“Look at me! Look at me!” She gestured at her reflection, grabbing the grey streak in her hand and tugging at it wildly, as though she wanted to rip it off her head.

“I''m 45 years old! My hair is going grey, I have crows feet... I LOOK LIKE I COULD BE YOUR MOTHER!”

The last part came out in a broken wail and she stood up so quickly that Raphael needed vampiric speed to get out of her way fast enough. Izzy began to pace wildly about the bedroom, grabbing and pulling at her skin frantically as she spoke.

“Do you see the looks when we go out? First they think I'm your mother, hell maybe, just maybe, your much older sister. Then either you or Simon or both touch me in a way that no man would touch his mother or his sister and the horror grows on their faces. I can hear the name before they whisper it: cougar.”

She turned on a dime and pointed at him. “Have you ever noticed that there's no mocking name for a man who dates a woman who is much younger than him? No, that's reserved for humiliating women!”

Once again, she began to pace furiously. “Then, they start to piece the evidence together, they realize all three of us are acting too... casually intimate to just be friends. Then the next part of my mortification begins: they think you and Simon are a gay couple who're giving a poor, desperate, middle aged woman a pity whirl. Some sad hag who can't get any other male attention.”

At this point Isabelle's arms fell flat to her sides and she burst into tears. “It's not fair! Someday, someday you'll look at me, you'll stop seeing what I used to be and just see me... and realize I'm too old... and then... and then you and Simon will leave me!”

Raphael strode over to her and grabbed her upper arms and gave her a small shake to get her to look him in the eyes.

“You listen to me, that is never going to happen, ever! I love you, WE love you! Do you think I would be shallow enough to take a wife if I even thought for a moment that it wasn't till death do us part? I will never leave you, I will love you till the day you die, because yes, the awful reality is that unless something unforeseen happens, you will die first, we will have to learn to do without you first. But until the moment you stop breathing you are a part of me in a way no other woman ever has, or ever will be again.”

He let go of her arms. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Isabelle stared at him, stuttered and then ran out of the room crying.

Raphael watched her go and then punched a wall. “Hijo de puta!”

“You know... of all the ways that you could have handled that, the only way that would have been worse would have been confirming her fears and telling her to go pack her bags.”

“Thank you Simon, how edifying of you to tell me that.” Raphael looked at the third member of what was quickly turning into a shit show, his husband. “Is there a reason you didn't step in to help?”

“You're a grown man Raph, you're older than both of us, I figured you've dealt with this before. Clearly I was wrong.”

Raphael's response was so dry it could have sopped up the Atlantic Ocean. “Clearly.”

Then he walked over to their bed and sat down heavily. “I didn't mean to yell at her like that. I just... I got so frustrated that she thought we, that I, would ever leave her like that. I had a feeling it was about her aging, but I had no idea it had gotten that bad.” He frowned up at Simon. “Why would she ever think that?”

Simon shrugged. “I mean, haven't you noticed the stuff she's talking about? I see it, not as much as she does because I'm not actively looking for it, but still, it's there. She's not making this shit up.” 

“Add to it the fact that she's right, she's gotten older than us physically and we're never going to catch up. Then... look... I don't know what it was like when you were still a mundane, but these days... I remember my mother ranting about how she was invisible because she had gotten older. How everything was about how young a woman looked and once she got to a certain age, women were expected to shut up and exit stage left. She talked about how much it sucked. Izzy is the same age now as my mother was then, add it all up with two men who will never grow old and I'm surprised this hasn't happened before now.”

Raphael rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. “I need to think about what to say to her, fuck, I know I need to think more about how I'm going to say it to her.”

Simon reached out and ran his thumb gently over Raph's cheekbone. “Not a bad idea, you two are... intense, a little too intense sometimes. You guys don't mean to hurt each other, but sometimes you do.”

He looked in the direction Isabelle had fled and then looked back at Raphael. “You think about things, I'm going to go and talk to her. You're not the only one here who doesn't like how she's feeling about herself right now. Come find us when you're ready.”

Raphael nodded. “Go.” 

 

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

 

It didn't take Simon long to find Isabelle, she wasn't trying to be subtle or stealthy, and all the other vampires at du Mort were going out of their way to avoid the area she was in. He approached her quietly, but loud enough that she would be able to hear him. He winced at the sound of her crying. Izzy wasn't a big crier, she was the kind of woman who channeled her sadness and grief in other ways, so if she was crying it was because she was feeling completely overwhelmed.

“Hey.” His voice was pitched softly, he wanted to be comforting.

Izzy looked up at him and gave an awkward wave. “Hi, come to play referee between me and Raphael?”

Simon shook his head. “Nope, we're not kids anymore, you and Raphael can work through your own stuff without me these days. I'm here because I wanted talk to you, I'm worried about you.”

Izzy shrugged and looked away. “Why worry about something you can't change? I'm getting older, someday I will have gotten elderly, someday I'll die... I guess I'm afraid that even if you don't leave me, you'll stay out of duty... obligation... rather than love.”

Simon sat down on the couch next to her and let her compose herself for a few moments. “I can understand that, Raph and I can lose track of time, it whirls past us, but we don't change. You do.” He took a deep breath and was clearly considering before continuing. “I know that we haven't noticed as much as we should have... but Izzy... do you really think we would ever leave you just because you've aged?”

Isabelle rubbed her eyes. “Not all the time, but when I feel like this? When I can see each and every way that I look like I could be your mother? Yeah, yeah I do.”

Simon nodded, he wanted to take her in his arms to comfort her, but he knew better, she was still too on edge for that. “Okay, alright, that's fair. You know, we never really thought about this when we got together, when you're 20 years old you think nothing will change, that you'll be young forever.”

Isabelle looked at him pointedly and raised an eyebrow.

“Touche.” he replied. “But, I'm not 20 anymore either. I look it, sure, so does Raphael, but neither of us are. I feel older inside, I have a lot less patience for the late teens, early 20's bullshit when it happens. I actually heard myself tell one of the newbies to grow up the other day. Ever wonder, back then, why Raph was always so cranky? He was a 100 year old man with a 20 year old face and he was surrounded by people, most of whom hadn't been five years out of high school. If that was me now, at 46, I think I'd just go on a face punching spree.”

Isabelle gave a small smile and laughed, the tension broken by imagining Simon and Raphael with their roles reversed. She scooted over to Simon's side and tucked herself into him. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

“I will always love you, I don't care how gray your hair gets or if you end up needing those old lady glasses to read. You're my Izzy and I see you, I really see you... so does Raphael.” He tilted her head up so he could look her in the eyes. “I'll tell you a secret, you still turn heads and in one way or another, you always will.”

A moment later Raphael walked in and crouched by her feet, taking her hands in his. “I'm sorry I yelled at you, I made it about me when I should have been listening to you.”

He seemed to struggle over something, as though he didn't want to say it. “Simon and I don't talk much about your death, we don't like too, even though someday we know we're going to have to face it. Because... Izzy... it doesn't matter if you had died when you were 30, if you die tomorrow or when you're in your 90's... it just won't matter.” 

He exchanged a tight look with Simon over her head who nodded back at him. “It won't matter because no matter what, we will be completely heartbroken. A hundred years after your death we will still miss you, still love you and a part of us will always be devastated by the loss of you. Always.”

Isabelle took some deep breaths, a pained look on her face, she seemed almost at a loss for words. When she did speak it was very quietly. “I wish I could say that everything's fine now, that I'm reassured and I won't get upset like this again, but I'd be lying. I'm not so well adjusted that other people's comments or stares aren't going to affect me.”

“No one's asking you to be perfect honey, especially neither of us. All I think we want is for you to talk to us before it gets this bad.” Simon said.

Raphael nodded. “We're not going to get forever with you, and neither of us wants to waste time on you retreating from us because you think we're here out of obligation. Just... talk to us when you start feeling this way. We will always make the time to listen to you.”

For a solid minute she just looked at them, tilted head and narrowed eyes. “Has anyone ever told you two that you're remarkably well adjusted?”

Simon laughed. “Not one person has ever said that about me. Seriously Isabelle, have you met me?”

Raphael merely nodded yes and left it at that.

One conversation would never truly fix the problem, it was too big for that. Too many centuries of women being valued more as decorative objects than as people had gone before them, too much water under the bridge. But now they at least could talk about it openly, now it wasn't a poorly kept secret.

Someday, quicker than they wanted it to happen, Isabelle would get elderly, need care that they would have to learn how to give... and Raphael and Simon would give it gladly. Today, however, was not that day. Today they had decades of time before the inevitable. Today they could still write their own story before reality set in.

Tomorrow would come soon enough. 

 

Authors Note: So the ending took me over a month to complete. It. Would. Not Come. I hope you guys like it, there's some clunky parts, but I thought the story content was worth the discussion. Leave a comment as I would enjoy hearing what you think... it'll make a lady's day.

See you soon, hopefully.


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